


Hell's Vampire

by JamiJR



Category: Hellraiser & Related Fandoms, Hellraiser (Movies)
Genre: Hell, Hellraiser - Freeform, Other, The Hellbound Heart - Freeform, Torture, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 09:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19003492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamiJR/pseuds/JamiJR
Summary: Please note this fanfiction really has no major plot. I just found myself thinking one day what would happen if a vampire, who's species according to folklore is obsessed with puzzles and the like, were to open the Lament Configuration. It's also short, written over the course of a single day. Because it's Hellraiser there is torture and body horror though I didn't describe it in as much detail as the great Clive Barker does. There's also mentions of anti-vaxxers, child abuse, and rape. The main focus is on my OC, a vampire, whose physical appearance I based on me because if you ask me, there's not enough older and fat protagonists in horror. So don't read if any of that sort of thing bothers you. If you read it and like it you're free to use my OCs in your own Hellraiser fanfictions if you'd like.





	Hell's Vampire

Hell’s Vampire

The Hellbound Heart/Hellraiser Fanfiction

By: Jami JoAnne Russell

 

It was odd how much more flexible she had become since the change was forced upon her. It was so easy now to reach behind her to grab the drawstrings of her corset to tighten and tie them from behind. Most people, putting a corset on by themselves, laced and tied the back first before doing the front, and she had done that, only to find that while the front was as tight as it could go, the back needed to go in another inch. Squeezing her flesh inwards, upwards, and downwards. 

She didn’t want to dress, especially not in the clothing he provided. The frilly white gown that looked like something off the cover of a gothic romance, the white corset over it. She knew as fat as she was the frills and white just made her look even larger. Though she supposed white was easier to launder, she knew part of it was because he liked to make jokes about her weight. Large breasts now forced upwards to where they threatened to constantly fall out, a big belly sucked in unnaturally by the steel boning of the corset. If she wanted to be fed though she had to dress.

No underwear - it was impossible to pull panties over the chained cuff around her ankle. The chain and cuff looked so delicate that she should’ve been able to break them easily, but under the stainless steel coating was links of pure silver. Though the coating kept the poisonous metal from touching her, the nearness still kept her weak enough to not be able to break it.

All the same she still resided in a cell, strong iron bars with a core of silver, sitting in a large room as if she was Hannibal Lecter. One side of the cage, nearest to where the other end of her chain was pinned to the ground, was a large claw foot bathtub, a bed, a wardrobe, and two mirrors - one antique and backed with silver, the other modern. In the antique one she cast no reflection, in the modern one she could be seen. It was in front of this one that she brushed her hair. Funny, when she was human it had neither naturally blonde nor curly, the look achieved by bottle and hours of drying her hair with curlers in it. Now it grew out this way. One day, not long after her change, she had in a fit of rage ripped it all out, along with hunks of her scalp, the bone of her skull showing wetly beneath it. But even as she tore it out by the fistful, she had instantly started healing and soon she had a head full of curly blonde hair again - though a slightly lighter shade, as if by ripping it out she had set in motion the snow white grey hair her mother had had and she would herself would now never gain.

One side of her hair she swept up with a comb made of bone, decorated with carved roses. Pale skin with dark pink lips, white clothing, white comb. “I look like a fucking wedding cake.” 

She sat on the bed and waited. He knew she was ready for her always was checking the camera feed. He kept an app on his phone just to check on her at random moments, making sure she was not trying some other futile escape attempt. She was no longer a fool, she had painfully learned her lessons there. 

He entered the room, five people coming in behind him. He was young, barely 30, yet had the hard look of a 60 year old lawyer sick of your bullshit. This was off set though by a constant sardonic twisting of the corners of his lips. His hair was sandy blonde, his eyes muddy brown, and his tan too perfect to be natural. 

“Here she is, my friends,” he said, the others coming up behind him, four men, one woman. “My vampire.”

The five laughed in disbelief. Making snide remarks about how fat she was. Asking how, if she really was a vampire, he captured and kept her prisoner - that was easy to answer, a vampire who owed him a favor made her and she had been chained before fully dead and risen. More snide remarks about her weight - why did they always focus on her weight? Every time he did this little show it always came back to her weight.

“Well, I didn’t chose her, her maker did,” he said apologetically. “Because even as a human she had abilities that could only be fully unleashed once she had been brought over. Plus I think he was a bit of a chubby chaser. Though I suppose that’s to be expected from someone nearly 800 years old. The changing standards of beauty and all that jazz.”

They laughed again, thinking this was all a show, waiting for her to hiss at them and show them realistic looking thermoplastic fangs. They thought her an actress. 

Instead she stood and glided as far upon her bare feet as the chain would allow her and pointed to the man farther on the right, next to the dark haired woman who looked like she just stepped out of a film noir. “I want that one.”

Her captor frowned. This was not what she was supposed to do. He had told her which one to take.

“Oh, don’t frown at me like that. The one stealing from you will reveal and repent after tonight. I want that one for what he’s done to little girls.” She smiled as the others looked at him as he started to sputter a bit. “Ten little girls, one your own niece. Does your sister know? Does she suspect as to why her daughter has so many nightmares now? Why she’s taken to wetting the bed again?”

“I - how - they seduced me! They loved me and wanted me!” He now admitted, the others, even her captor, shuffling away from him in disgust. He didn’t quite understand why he was confessing, but confess he did. “There’s no nightmares. Not when it’s true love.”

The guards that had been just outside now shuffled in, summoned by some silent signal. The vampire smiled, her fangs starting to elongate.

“True love? No nightmares?” She cooed. “Are you so sure?”

Her mind lashed out. Connecting first to him, then to each of his victims, even the one no longer part of this world. She drew their suffering into him, letting him experience their terror, pain, and shame first hand. He screamed in agony, falling to his knees. The pain he was now experiencing tenfold causing him to lose control of both bladder and bowel. The others gagged at the foul smell even as he was dragged towards the cage. The guards opened the door that was far enough away she could never reach it and shoved him far in before retreating and locking it. 

If the other four had doubted before about her supernatural nature, they did not doubt now. For not only had she sprouted claws, but her face became more bat-like, with her nose curling upwards and flattening out until it looked like the nose of a vampire bat. Claws came not just from her fingers but her toes too. Allowing her to hook through his clothing and into his flesh. Holding him in place as she first drew energy from the terror she had induced into his mind, then her fangs tore into his throat. Drawing down great gulps of blood - some splashing down the front of her - but most going to fill her. She was always kept half starved, occasionally tossed some drug dealer or pimp to keep her going. Sometimes she had to make do on just psychic trauma, feeding off the energy of fear. 

Had she been well fed she could feed without killing if she wanted. Taking only small amounts here and there. However, her captor didn’t feed her well. Instead he was like those who insisted guard dogs never eat their fill to keep them mean. 

When she could draw no more blood from the stinking corpse, she ripped open the chest cavity. There was little blood, just withered flesh and bits of bone, tearing out the heart. She didn’t really know fully how her kind were made - she had flashes of memory, nightmares of her own - but she took no chances. 

Now she looked at the others, looking fully human again. Or as human as one could with blood drying upon one’s chin and chest. She knew her face looked innocent - it always had. Even when she had entered her early 40s it still had the look of a little girl’s. Wide grey-blue eyes, a round face that many would describe as angelic. Though, even after her change, she still had deep lines in her forehead and crows feet around her eyes, she was often mistaken for younger than she was. 

The only thing that hadn’t changed back was her claws. She used these now to shred the bloodless heart in her hand. Flinging pieces at the guests as she talked. “Count yourselves lucky that someone more evil than yourselves was here to be my meal. You think I can’t see into your minds? I know which one of you stole from my captor,” she flung a piece of the heart at the one she spoke of, “which one of you embezzled from your own child’s trustfund,” another flinging of heart tissue, smacking the embezzler right in there slightly opened mouth, causing them to gag. “The one who beats his wife because it makes him feel manly when in truth it proves him weak and pathetic. And you,” she glared at the woman, flinging the rest of the heart at her, “Not vaccinating your own children. How vile. Vaccines don’t cause autism, you fucking bitch. Your children are going to be dead by the end of the week by the measles you exposed them to. And MMS is a fucking bleach. That’s not parasites you’re forcing out of your children with your fucking bleach enemas - it’s their intestinal linings. If I wasn’t already full I’d be having you for desert. Cunts like you are no better than him.” She pointed to the corpse of the pedophile. “In fact, you’re both cut from the same evil cloth.” 

If she expected a protest from the anti-vaxxer, lies that she was “just doing the best for her child,” the vampire was to be sorely disappointed. Instead the wicked woman just began to vomit, partly in disgust, partly in terror. 

No one would speak of this night. Each would dwell on it forever. There would never be a moment their minds weren’t tormented by what happened. Nightmares and sweats would purse them until the end of time. They wouldn’t even be able to void their own bladder and bowels without thinking of what happened here, for the smell would be forever entwined with the memories. Her captor and the remaining four left, the latter stumbling from the room in a disgusted daze. 

The vampire stripped. She knew her captor would be watching and how he hated her body. The pendulous breasts who’s nipples pointed straight at the floor, the belly that sagged until the bottom touched the top of her vulva. In her mortal life a patch of hair on the latter had actually been rubbed away by her belly. The rolls of flab alongside her breasts and her jiggling upper arms. 

In life she had stretch marks too. Though she had never bore a child they had decorated her breasts, belly, even one that crossed her vulva. But now they were gone. And not for the first time she noticed that after a good, solid feeding some of her flabby flesh had firmed. Not becoming lean, but just turning a little more solid, the flesh jiggling less, the rolls a little smaller. Perhaps if she was allowed to glut herself she might look more like the fetish drawings of fat women on DeviantArt and less like a blob. 

She threw her dress upon the corpse, then carried both to as far as her chain would allow her to go, stopping her around ten feet from the cage door. She then gently tossed the refuse and laundry so it was within three feet of the door. Close enough for the guards to later pull out. Not so close to her that they’d be afraid to get it. Then she moved the antique mirror. Behind it was a spigot and hose along with a large spray bottle of bleach. She set then to cleaning the cage floor. Spraying the bleach first before hosing down the floor. There was a drain in the center of it just like there was a second drain in the floor outside the cage. Already men had come to clean that part of the floor. The room filling with the smell of bleach and water. 

Next she filled the claw foot tub with steaming water, dropping in a generous dollop of rose and jasmine scented bath oil. The chain clinking against the porcelain as she slipped in. There she scrubbed herself until her skin was raw, though it healed as quickly, leaving healthy looking pink flesh behind. 

There was no need to shave anymore. It seemed some of the fiction books were right and the folklore was wrong. Before her turning she vaguely remembered the hair from her legs, armpits, forearms, and even portions of her face being removed in a multitude of ways. From waxing to threading to someone carefully going over her with a needle and tweezers. Even the hair around her anus had been meticulously removed. Despite the state of constant sedation she had been kept under at the time she could remember the pain as hair after hair was plucked out by the root. All done until her maker carefully looked her over, letting no square inch of flesh be overlooked. Removing any offending hairs himself if needed. So now the only hair she had was what was on her head, her eyebrows, upper arms, and on her vulva. Otherwise she was smooth and hairless. 

It was as she was drying herself that her captor came in, making a disgusted noise as she lifted up her belly to dry and powder under it. 

“Put some fucking clothes on.” He ordered. 

“When I’m dry and not before.” She said even as she rubbed down each leg, making sure her back was to him as she bent over so he would be forced to look upon her large ass cheeks and hear as air whistled out of her anus. Because she no longer pissed or shit there was no bacteria to make a foul methane smell in her gut and the air was simple air that had been trapped when she took breaths in order to speak. Still, she knew it offended him when she “farted” in her own way in his direction. 

Dried and powdered, she tossed the towel near the cage door then went to her wardrobe, all the time ignoring her captor. From it she withdrew a simple nylon night gown in dark purple. The one thing he allowed her to choose for herself. She wasn’t even allowed to choose the books she read. There was no fancy lace or frills. Simple sleeves came down to her elbows. There was a tiny satin bow at the neck and that was it. 

“You talked too much at the end.” He said. “Why do you always go off on the anti-vaxxers as you do?”

“Because they’re evil.” She said simply. “They think they’re not but they are. They refuse to give their children life saving vaccines believing it will make them autistic, or gay, or transgender, or whatever nonsense they believe this week. But then turn around and give them bleach enemas and treat serious illnesses with cheap oils and other hokum. They all need to know how vile and demonic they really are.”

He snorted. “All the same, it paid off, even if you didn’t eat who I wanted you to eat.” He approached the cage, his hand slipping through the bars as he tossed a small wrapped box into it before quickly retreating. “A gift for you.”

She watched him go, wishing she could do to him what she did so easily to others, but her maker had trained him to lock his mind against her. When he left, no doubt to watch her via the cameras, she picked up the gift. Something about it made her shudder. The ribbon was tied with many knots and she began to obsessively pick at them. It was one of the weaknesses of her kind. Knots in laces were fine, such as in her corsets, but a multitude of knots she had to pick at, undo or break. Her mind could not rest until they were all undone. 

When the last knot unraveled so did the paper, revealing a gold puzzle box. She moaned in agony. Puzzles. Always with the fucking puzzles. Once her captor gave her a specially made puzzle of over 5000 pieces. She went at it for days, ignoring any offers of food, going without bathing or sleep, until the last piece was in place. Even as she longed to throw it away, her fingers found it’s way over it. Pressing here, nudging there. The desire to solve it the driving force. Soon there was nothing but her fingers and the puzzle. The world ceased to exist for her except for this. Music tinkled, rewarding her, driving her on. She kept going, not knowing or caring what the ultimate reward was. All that mattered was solving it. It burned in her, a hunger, a thirst, a lust for the solution.

Then suddenly the box opened. Chains with hooks flew out. Only her undead reflexes kept her from being snagged by them - even still one managed to grab her sleeve and tear it even as she grabbed them all in one hand. Even as they fought against her she put her other hand around another portion of the chains and pulled. They snapped, the hooked ends going limp. She crushed these all together into a ball and flung the crushed cursed metal out of the cage. Only now did she hear the ringing of the bell, only now did she see one of the walls had opened up and figures stepping out of the new doorway.

Four figures now stood before her, one, the tallest, bending down to pick up the ball of twisted metal. As he slowly stood she took the time to observe them. 

All four were bald and clad in black leather. This is where the similarities ended, however. Two had no noticeable eyes, one being as fat if not fatter than the vampire, and taller. A multitude of chins coming off his round face. The belly area of his outfit was missing and his stomach itself opened and pulsating. The other eyeless one had a mouth stretched to inhuman proportions by metal hooks that seemed to travel to the back of his head, and his teeth constantly chattered together. One, who looked feminine, had her eyes still intact, a gash in the center of her throat held open by metal wires that went through the shoulders of her outfit, then up into her cheeks. A metal rod - or perhaps it was the other end of the wires carefully woven through - stuck out on either side of the bridge of her nose. 

And finally there was the one now holding the ball of mangled chains and hooks. Portions of his outfit seemed to be woven into his bloody flesh. There were no nipples anymore, just raw meat exposed to the air. His head and face had been marked with a deep grid and at the corner of each square a pin the length and size of a picture nail - no, longer than that, but smaller around than a regular nail - had been driven deep into the flesh, perhaps all the way to the bone.

The vampire could smell the blood from there constantly opened wounds, though no blood flowed. It didn’t whet her appetite, however. It was blood she could not drink and she knew it. There would be no subsistence to be found here. 

“You broke my toys. How rude.” The one with the pins now intoned in a deep voice. A voice that vibrated one’s bones. 

“With all due respect,” the vampire said, pulling up her nightgown and holding out her chained ankle, “I’ve had enough of chains for many lifetimes.”

“Soon you shall have eternity to get used to them.” The be-pinned one proclaimed. 

The vampire rolled her eyes. They were trying to frighten her, that much was obvious. Perhaps they fed on fear the way she fed on psychic pain and blood. “Who and what are you?”

“Explorers in the deepest regions of experience, seeking the pleasure that is pain and finding pain in the pleasure. You have solved our puzzle, opened the door from our world to your’s, and we answered the call.” 

Some ancestral memory now came forth, the vampire cocked her head to one side. “You’re cenobites. Demons - or angels - depending on how one looks upon you. And this,” she nudged the solved puzzle with her chained foot, “is the fabled Lament Configuration.” 

“You’ve heard of us.” The female cenobite now said, her voice a raspy whisper, wind whistling through her opened neck as she spoke. 

“No, but others of my kind have and somehow their memories are also my memories.” The vampire said with a wave of her hand. Addressing the one that seemed to be the leader, “You may take your Gash and go, Priest. You will find nothing to explore with me for they say my kind has no soul and with no soul you shall have nothing to tear asunder.” She let her fangs drop, the way only the young of her kind do when they were showing off. A bit of false bravado for she really knew little of her own nature. Her maker had not stayed around to teach her much and while she knew much of the folklore and some of what she called Hollywood lore, she had no idea if she had a soul or not.

The cenobites laughed - or rather three laughed and one chattered. “We shall have eternity with your flesh, to see if you have a soul or not, vampire.” The Priest declared. 

With that the cuff around her ankle fell off, the cell door crashed open. For the first time now the vampire felt fear and she instinctively lashed out with her mind. Connecting with their’s. 

It was an alien landscape, yet familiar enough in a way - the pathways, the links. She found those they had caused to suffer, those they tortured, frightened, and brought their suffering into their minds, making them experience what they had caused. 

The cenobites screamed, but their screams were not screams of pure pain. The screams had an orgasmic quality to it. And the vampire herself found herself turned on in return as she fed on their energy. Their blood might not be to her taste but their energy - oh, their energy.... It was delicious. Like thick, rich, dark chocolate fudge. So bitter yet so sweet. 

The vampire found herself on her knees now, gasping for breath even though she no longer needed to breath. The cenobites were now around her. The fat one grabbing her hair, pulling her up by it. 

“A useful talent.” The Priest said. “One we shall have to explore, make use of.” He ran his fingertips lightly along her face. “How does one of your kind end up trapped like this?”

She couldn’t speak, not at this time when she was so full, quivering. Instead she entered their minds again and showed them - the fragments she could remember. Heading to her car, alone, rough hands grabbing her, a pin prick. Now awake but groggy. Voices, one of them her future captor’s asking why someone as “old and ugly” as her, the other replying that he would see in time. The removal of unwanted hair. IVs pumped into her constantly.

Then finally her maker, smiling as he took her, raped her, his fangs ripping into her throat, forcing his blood into her mouth, massaging her damaged throat until she drank. Again and again it happened. Sometimes he bit her breast instead, or the inside of her thighs, sometimes he made her drink blood from his cock instead of his wrist or chest. 

Then dying in the bathtub, the chain already in place. Being washed as her bladder and bowels voided themselves in death and rebirth. 

Her captor presenting her with a child to dine upon and her refusal. 

“She cannot eat the innocent,” her maker said. “No animals either. You must feed her only the guilty.” 

Her mind intuitively lashing out for the first time - at her captor - making him feel her suffering as her maker laughed. 

“This - this is why I chose her. The power was there, waiting to be unleashed. This is why she can only feed on the guilty for she needs she shall draw from visiting the suffering they caused others upon them. I shall teach you to close your mind to her, until then return the child to it’s parent’s and let us find her a more sumptuous feast.”

Back to the present, the Priest holding her chin in a firm and painful - even for her - grip. “Your suffering is delightful. I assure you that we shall take you to pleasurable pain ten thousand fold.” 

Chains wrapped around the vampire, hooks biting into her flesh which only healed around them, she screamed as she was dragged through the doorway. Not from pain or fear, but anger, for now she understood - this was how her captor intended to dispose of her now that he was bored of her. Leave her to the cenobites. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a series of experiments with the vampire. First they tried what they usually did with humans - adjusting their senses until they were so sharp it was painful to see, to hear, to feel, but the vampire already had enhanced senses so she simply and quickly adapted. There was no pleasure to be had there.

They cut her flesh next. Not with silver blades for they did not wish to accidently kill her in case it was true that her kind had no soul. They wished to play with her. They cut off her breasts, her fingers, her toes. They flayed her skin off of her. However it all grew back almost instantly, leaving no trace of their work. There was no lasting changes. And after a few screams, she would suddenly enter their minds and let them feel her pain, her suffering. Ah - now this was a new and delightful pleasure. They could feel how their blades cut into her. When they pulled out her eyes they could feel their own eyes - even the ones that were long gone - being pulled out. 

The problem was, because she sent her suffering to them, she did not sing to them with her screams. And instead she fed off of the energy they gave off as they experienced her pain first hand, making her stronger.

The Engineer, the true leader of their Gash, wanted nothing to do with her. Even their god, the Leviathan, wished to expel her. But the Gash did not wish to give her up. Not entirely. Perhaps, if they couldn’t make her suffer, reshape her to their image, they could instead learn from her. 

“Tell us how you do it, how you enter minds.” The Priest said to her one day. “How you make them feel the suffering they have caused others.”

“It would be easier to show you,” the vampire said, “it’s a part of my nature - to reach into the minds of the guilty, find those they caused pain and anguish, even if those people are long dead, and bring their feelings into their mind, making them feel as their victims felt. An untapped gift I had even as a human, apparently. Though I’m sure you can learn it. I think you could learn anything - except compassion and love.”

“Who needs compassion or love when there is beautiful suffering and delicious pain?” The Priest said, taking her by the hand as he led her down their labyrinth. 

He brought her to a room. In the room was a skinless man who watched as slabs kept exiting and entering the walls around him. On these slabs sheet clad women who writhed and moaned in sexual ecstasy. Behind him, a woman, also skinless, apparently separated from him by an unseeable wall. This was their mental torture - him, women he could never have, her, watching the man who didn’t want her anymore long to touch others the way he once did her. The smell of their blood and later the sight of the sheet clad women, now soaked in blood, excited the vampire’s thirst. While she could feed on the cenobites’ psychic energy, their blood was no good to her and how she longed to sup upon that red liquid, to bathe and wallow in it. 

With a great force of will the vampire ignored the urge to glut herself. Instead she connected her mind first with the cenobites. This time not to seek out those they caused to suffer, but to let them ride her mind. Then she connected first to the skinless man, this man she now knew as Frank Cotton. She showed them the pathways to everyone he had caused suffering and pain to. Roads, freeways of energy, even those long gone, their souls someplace physically unreachable, but somehow the vampire could mentally reach. Then she drew their suffering into Frank’s mind and he screamed as he felt every agony. Every mental and physical torture. The fear he had filled Kirsty with. The anguish Julia felt when he betrayed her. He fell to his bloody, skinless knees, his hands clawing at his head, trying to rip out the flesh as if he could pull out his own brain.

Then she repeated the process on the woman - Julia. The many ways she hurt her husband, the terror and pain of the men she killed for Frank. Again, the suffering she caused Kirsty. She wailed and cried as the cenobites gloried in her agony. This was a new form of suffering. A new delight. They had the pain of the knives and the hooks, the torment of heightening senses, but never before could they make others feel the torment they themselves had caused others. 

The lesson done, the Priest motioned to the vampire and she first fell upon Frank. Drinking, tearing, clawing. He screamed, he regenerated, though not like she did. His regeneration was the regeneration of Hell. For Hell would never let him go, not again.

Julia was next, her blood smoky and sour but filling. She cried and tried to fight back, but it was no good. The vampire was every bit as strong as the cenobites. More than that she was cruel in a way they could never be. For they wished to explore pain for the pleasure it could bring, while the vampire wished to punish, to make Julia sorry and repent her wicked ways. 

The vampire was now soaked in their blood, her blonde hair matted with it. Gore covered her face, breasts, arms - all the way down to her feet. Where her flesh showed through it was now ruddy instead of pale, her body bloated not unlike that of a rotting corpse. Her lips now as dark a red as their skinless flesh. For the first time since her creation she was truly sated. Filled beyond capacity. She longed for a bath followed by a long nap. 

The cenobites were quick learners. What she did was not entirely unlike their ability to enhanced one’s senses beyond that of reason. Yet when they tried it on her she only smiled at them. For she only fed on the guilty, the evil, and therefore their suffering pleased her. It was the agony of the wicked, punishment they so richly deserved. 

And so, unable to reshape her flesh, to make her suffer, learning her tricks, the cenobites grew bored of her too. However, they did not seek to kill her. The vampire sensed they still hoped to one day figure out how to make her like them, in fact. But now she was left to her own devices so she spent her time wandering, learning the pathways and trying to find a way out. She occasionally returned to Frank and Julia, for they were a good, filling meal. The Priest would sometimes join her and ask her to specifically call memories of Kirsty’s pain and terror to their minds. Though he knew well how to do this himself now, he seemed to want to share these times with the vampire. 

Perhaps not all the cenobites were bored with her after all. 

Then one day - music. The same music the vampire had heard when first playing with the puzzle box. The Priest found her and motioned for her to come. She joined the Gash and waited until the tolling of the bell, the opening of the door. 

“Ah, my dear, so that is what he did with you.” Her maker greeted her, in his hands the puzzle box, solved. “A dreadful thing, our kind’s obsession with puzzles and counting. We cannot burn up in the sun like humans believe, but they can so easily escape or even destroy us with something as simple as a handful of grain or a riddle.” 

The younger vampire quivered in anger, in rage. Her maker, her violator, sat before her, chatting as if this was a simple reunion. In a chair sat her former captor, his neck bloody. Her maker had apparently fed on him until he got answers. The captor was still alive. 

“Shut up.” She said, realizing her maker was still talking. “Don’t you sit there and talk nice to me after what you did.”

“I gave you immortality, power.” Her maker declared, offended. 

“You raped me and left me to be his toy. And then when he grew bored he tried to make me their toy.” She motioned to the cenobites. “Would I have accepted immortality had you offered it to me? Yes. But you didn’t offer - you just took and violated then left me to be used and tortured in different ways.” 

He looked so offended and hurt, yet he was so distracted by her he never even looked at the cenobites who now closed upon both him and her former captor. She watched as they screamed as the cenobites used what she taught them. They could get past the mental barriers both her maker and captor had set up for their minds were just alien enough to slide around mental defenses. She could feel the cenobites taking her pain and agony from her mind and putting it into their’s. Then the chains with hooks came out. 

“We shall have eternity to know your flesh,” the Priest was saying to them, “we shall tear your souls apart.”

Odd that he would say “souls” the vampire thought. For she was still unsure her kind had any. Then a quiver of fear raced through her - if her kind did have souls the cenobites would surely drag her back. She would never escape. She would once again be a captive, a toy, to be used for others’ whims. 

Indeed, the Priest caught the wrist of her left hand. Not with chains and hooks but his own hand. He held it up and the chattering one came forth now with the same clippers they had used upon her in the past. Even as she tried to pull away, afraid she’d be dragged back into Hell, the Priest took a hold of her ring finger and stretched it out. The chattering one then applied the clippers and snipped her finger off. 

And then - the Priest let her go, holding the wiggling digit. 

Even as she stood there in shock, the female cenobite pressed the puzzle box into her hand - and the vampire felt no urge to try and solve it.

“A gift for you, in return for the one you gave us.” The female cenobite said. “You and any you make and any they make will never feel the urge to solve puzzles, to count. This shall no longer be a weakness for you and your offspring.” 

The vampire stared at the puzzle box, then looked to the others. Already the Priest was reshaping her finger into a ring of sorts, holding it together with hooks and wire. 

“Why do I have a feeling this will not be our last meeting?” The vampire asked, backing away. 

“We shall learn your maker’s flesh,” The Priest intoned. “To shape it, remake it, to find ways to bring beautiful suffering to him....”

Did that mean they would one day return for her? The vampire didn’t want to know. She remembered how the Engineer and the Leviathan had wanted her gone. Was an exception being made for her maker? Or was the Gash before her rebelling against their leader and their god? 

“Pass the puzzle box onto another who wishes to explore the realms of flesh, pain, and lust.” The Priest ordered. “And maybe, if our plaything delights us, this will be our last meeting.” He reached out now, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. “Then again, maybe not.”

The vampire, her finger already growing back, wasn’t sure which she’d prefer. But for now she decided to take no chances and ran from the room as the screams of her maker and captor were soon cut off by the closing of a door. She searched the house, finding that her maker had apparently killed all the guards. Leaving their bloodless corpses lying around. Not a single one showed a sign of returning to life. She found clothing, though she had to put on one of those hated corsets to support her breasts, and no shoes fit her tiny feet so instead she fled in socks.

Outside now in the daylight that humans wrongly and stupidly thought should burn her to a crisp she now took the time to look at the puzzle box again. Still no desire to solve it. The cenobites spoke the truth. As she looked at it she saw the agonized faces of her maker and her captor on it’s gleaming surface. Let them be the ones to suffer then. Them and whomever she gave the box to to take her place in Hell. May she never return.

But then for a brief moment she saw the Priest’s face, laughing in delight at all the beautiful suffering - and she found herself wondering if she really did wish to escape Hell for eternity. 

~The End~


End file.
